Mom hasn’t called, and this is the Q4 Dating Dump
Please note this drop comes with a trigger warning (reference to assault, 2018)
*Please note this drop comes with a trigger warning (reference to assault, 2018)
PRINCETON ARCHITECT asked me on date No. 2 what it was like dating sober. That was the first time I became aware of just how much my dating experience changed since accidentally beginning what I, until recently, intended to be lifelong sobriety this past February.
My reasons for releasing alcohol and substances from my life are three-fold. One: someone I love recently adopted a sober lifestyle and I wanted to better understand his experience. Two: earlier this year I realized my comedowns heightened my depression. And three: upon further reflection prompted by HBO’s I May Destroy You, followed by extensive conversations with my therapist, I finally accepted what I refused to for years: in 2018 I was roofied and taken advantage of by a stranger at a bar.
The events of that night did not make sense to me the morning after. I recall having one gin and tonic with friends, saying goodnight, and then stopping at another bar on the way home because I wasn’t quite ready to be in a quiet apartment, alone. I’d seen He Shouldn’t Have at this bar before. We’d exchanged eyes, but never spoke. That night he introduced himself and offered to buy me a drink, which he brought over from the bar to our little corner. He was taller than me, older than me, and seemed smarter than me. I remember drinking with him, slipping into the bathroom with him, seeing genitals, my pants coming off, and nothing after. I woke up the next morning in my bed, alone.
Because I couldn’t confirm what happened I went to the clinic the following day. Because I couldn’t answer their questions—Did you use protection? How many drinks did you have? Does your partner have any STIs?—they suggested I take PEP medication for 28 days, for safety.
I tried to make sense of that night for months after. Not having anyone to ask questions made it nearly impossible. I told myself I had too much to drink; maybe that [one] drink was [very] strong.
Being roofied by someone I would have otherwise would have had sex with consensually—even in a bar restroom—made making sense of that encounter difficult. Why would he do that? I was attracted to him. He owns his own business. He was funny. I would have gone home with him anyway. I couldn’t explain his actions, so rather than acknowledging the encounter for what it was—assault—I defaulted the night as a consequence of my own: alleged, possible over-drinking. That was until Michaela Coel mirrored sexual assault in such a way I was able to recognize my own immediately. The white man, the attraction, the fogginess, and the suspicious inability to make sense of a night you know you should be able to. I have at times been one to sneak off to a bathroom bar for fun, but I am not and have never been one to black out.
When I consciously accepted my experience as assault, the sight of alcohol and drugs began to trigger me. It was difficult to drink and when I did, I couldn’t help but feel I was losing control of my body, mind, and actions again. I felt that even stronger when on dates and in other areas of life. I couldn’t accept a beverage—alcoholic or not—from a friend, best friend, or boyfriend. When I found myself unable to drink a glass orange juice my most recent ex (of 2020) poured for me, out of view, I recognized my damage. The lack of trust I felt, even towards people I loved, and the compounding anxiety was exhausting. All of that contributed to my first panic attack in December 2020. I knew something had to change.
That something became sobriety. While I do not have a substance problem (and have recently considered drinking again), intentionally removing substances from my life has allowed me to feel control over my person. We forfeit some of ourselves when we drink. Having another man claim control over my person is something I have not been able to forget, but reclaiming total control has helped me move on.
Ironically—and this is where the tone of this drop shifts suddenly—I stopped drinking because of a man, and that has caused me to realize most men are only tolerable after a few cocktails. I have endured many conversations, dates, and hookups since I’ve gone substance-free this year that have made me wish I could say yes for a drink, if only to make laughing at a joke or finding chemistry where there is none easier. The men included in this quarter’s dump are nothing to write home about, but I suppose they are someone to publish on a Substack.
Before we get into these guys though…
If reading this triggered you and you’d like to chat, my DMs are open (@cashmeretote). Until I wrote this piece, I hadn’t told any friends or family about my experience. I didn’t know how and have a tendency to process things on my own. Vulnerability is not a quality I display naturally.
I chose to share this experience because, primarily, it’s naturally connected to this quarter’s dates and Dating Dump. But I’m thankful for that push. I’ve felt shame over that experience for years and the release of telling the people I love for the first time has done so much for my heart. My body shook as I told my some friends, roommate, and brother before publishing today (thank you all for your support, love, and understanding). I realize the moments after assault, date-rape and similar encounters can be incredibly confusing, scary, and isolating. If you are currently enduring the feelings after or have endured assault, I see you. I love you. You are not stupid or crazy. You did not deserve this. You are stronger than you know. It gets easier. It gets better.
& now, the men of the Q4 Dating Dump:
COPYWRITER CUTIE NOT SO CUTE (CCNSC) reminded me what a truly awful date feels like. I admittedly agreed to a date because I’d never dated a Copywriter—only an Art Director, Account Director, and Group Strategy Director, as far as industry flings go (I work in Advertising)—and loved the idea of checking another discipline off the list. When I described him to a friend, I initially referred to him as Copywriter Cutie; shorter than what I usually go for, very British-looking in the face, but from Cleveland; that confused me. As did his inability to maintain an engaging conversation, when his very livelihood depends on artfully stringing words together.
When he was unable to answer the simplest of questions—have you listened to any good albums lately?—I realized he wasn’t lost for words. He just wasn't interested. He was a cutie, but the blank stare while I finished off my Topo Chico...not so cute. Our date lasted thirty-seven minutes and I resolved to forget him immediately thereafter by kissing a stranger. That is how I met THE ESTATE PLANNER…
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THE ESTATE PLANNER was at the bar I went to after leaving my date with CCNSC. He was sitting with his good friend and looked like someone that would govern a country like Canada (not like Justin Trudeau, though; Trudeau himself does not like someone that would govern a country like Canada). I joined him and his friend on a couch and they offered to buy me a drink. I declined, saying I was fine with my water. Three martinis arrived, and The Estate Planner apologized. We talked about Paris, spoke a little French and the Cartier watch he wore, that his friend not-so-subtly called out. You can always tell a good man by his watch, he said. And this one’s Cartier. I found the friend insufferable and drunk—he spilled on my chinos—so I excused myself, and asked The Estate Planner to walk me out. We kissed on the corner and made plans for dinner the following week. Dinner was fine, as was our trip to Brooklyn Museum the week thereafter.
While at the museum, I asked myself the question we sometimes do with men that are perfectly fine on paper, but not clicking for some reason: do I like this person?
As I was contemplating my answer he said, If I were a chair, I’d be this chair, pointing to the most simple, ordinary chair I have ever seen in my life. I did not understand him, but did immediately understand that he was not for me.
He offered to walk me home and I declined. Adele walked me home instead. Stream 30 (specifically To Be Loved, Hold On, Love Is A Game, and All Night Parking).
/
If there is a shining star from this quarter’s dump it’s PRINCETON ARCHITECT. I have had a lingering suspicion for years that Architects are a dream combination of the Finance Fuckboy and Art Bro persona. I am excited to share my suspicions are correct—architects include the best (and some of the worst) qualities these men possess: ambition (hot), creativity (hot), self-absorption (not so hot), and extreme pre-occupation with ones occupation (not so hot, but also somehow hot?).
For our first date, PRINCETON ARCHITECT took me to Paulette in Fort Greene for tea and croissants. We walked the park afterwards, an awful callback to peak-pandemic dating, during which New York singles endured less than promising first dates in low double-digit weather, with cautious optimism that maybe they’d find a cuddle buddy to keep them warm for the season.
We wrapped our first date on account of the cold and my running late to meet my trainer. He walked me to the train and I let him kiss me. We’ve seen each other since—he is in fact ambitious (hot), creative (hot), a tad self-absorbed (not so hot), extremely pre-occupied with his occupation (not so hot), and very kind (hot)—but I will not be seeing him again. Something wasn’t there.
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Me and SWEET SONDHEIM are done, entirely. If you recall, SS is my most recent (serious) ex from 2020. We met during the pandemic, I fell in love, but he wasn’t able to give me everything I needed, so I ended our relationship. We decided to stay friends and that was fine until I realized just last week that friendship with him meant lingering feelings on my part. So… I ended our friendship and now we are nothing, as exes should be. He introduced me to Sondheim and Little Women; playing them back is enough connection to him as I will ever need.
There were several others not worth mentioning. Here’s to hoping Q1 is more promising.
BIG X BIG O
Coley Bradshaw